


Faith in Something Bigger

by MichiganBlackhawk



Series: Trio AU [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 19:17:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1047607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MichiganBlackhawk/pseuds/MichiganBlackhawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After tangling with a rawhead, Dean is hurt by their new ally, and the trio have to find a place to regroup and learn a little more about their new helper. Touches on the first season episode "Faith."</p><p> </p><p>Revised version updated 5/22/2014</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Wait a minute. You cannot be serious.”

“I am totally serious.”

“I don’t believe it. No way they didn’t come up with that themselves.”

“Dude, I was _there_. John had had about three brandies and Keith was on his second bottle of who-knows-what. They were just fucking around with the idea of Keith and John joining Jimmy and Robert and it went from there. John was the one who said they’d go over like a lead balloon but since they were such big stars already—”

“It would be a lead zeppelin,” Sam finished. He’d been watching the exchange with amusement, Dean’s food forgotten as Jayme proceded to puncture some of his most deeply held musical beliefs. The diner in north Illinois was quiet, with just a few locals having coffee at the counter.

“Exactly. It never ended up happening but they picked up Bonham and JPJ so it all worked out in the end.” She speared another buffalo chicken wing. “And they kept the name.”

“Man,” Dean said. “If you had all that then what the hell are you doing with us?”

“Operative word, Dean. _Had_. That life is gone, this one isn’t, hence I’m here.”

“Yeah, but with your connections there have got to be a lot of places you can go,” Sam said. “It’s not like there aren’t things happening now.”

“Doesn’t work that way, for the same reason Dean doesn’t listen to rap and techno. It’s not my thing. Besides, most of the people I really loved are dead. Hanging around with the folks who are left is too fucking painful.”

“Then we are the last people you wanna run around with,” Dean said.

“Let me be the judge of that,” she said. “Besides, I have to stick with you guys at least until I get to kill something.”

Her last words arrived at the same time as the waitress, who put the check down while giving Jayme an odd look.

“Deer hunting,” Dean said, snagging the bill before Jayme could. “It’s her first time and she’s real excited.”

“Oh, well, in that case, good hunting,” she said, forcing a smile.

“Sorry,” Jayme said, smirking just a little after she’d left. “Keep forgetting that I’m not supposed to go around saying outrageous shit just to draw attention to myself.”

“Yeah, that’s not exactly a plus in our line of work,” Sam said, finishing his drink.

“Lucky for you I can also do the undercover thing. Decades of experience.”

 

 

They were over the border into Iowa, having dinner at a small truck stop when a job found them. The TV, tuned to a local station, had started its news broadcast with a breaking story about two children that had gone missing, with reports of a strange creature seen in the area. That was enough to draw the brothers’ attention, Sam taking advantage of the diner’s anachronistic wireless access to search for any mention online.

Jayme watched with that look Dean was beginning to recognize—and one that still unnerved him. It was like being eyeballed by a very large cat.

“Dean, I think we’re dealing with a rawhead,” Sam said, lowering his voice so that only they could hear.

“A what-head?” Jayme asked, adjusting her volume to match.

“A rawhead. Boogeyman,” Sam answered. “They go after kids.”

“Hence the missing pair.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, tossing a few bills down on the table. “Let’s get moving.”

Placing a few discreet phone calls, during which he posed as a reporter and a police officer with facility born of long practice, Sam was able to find out where the children had been seen last and the sighting of the strange being, who had been described as a Sasquatch wearing clothes.

Jayme held up her scanning device, which looked like an ordinary smart phone. She homed in on the area Sam indicated. “Farmland. Rural. I’ve triangulated their positions and the only structure around for miles is this house here.” She held the device forward so Sam could see. “It looks abandoned—there’s no active electricity or gas hookups.”

“So it either chased them there or took them there,” Sam said. “You can’t . . . can you tell if there’s anyone in there?”

She adjusted the settings. “Two human life signs, and something that the scanner can’t identify, but it’s moving, so that might be our beastie.”

Dean whistled. “You can tell all that from here?”

“Yes. But if you want more details I can’t give them.”

“Do all your people have those?” Sam asked as Dean pulled the Impala into a sharp u-turn, aiming it back toward their target.

“Standard issue, but not everyone carries one. They look and work like a smartphone, and they can be shut down from orbit if they fall into human hands.”

“Man, you just don’t want anyone playing with your toys, huh?” Dean snorted.

“Dean, if someone who shouldn’t have it got their hands on this and figured out what it is and what it can do . . . let’s just say the future after Biff got hold of that sports almanac would look like Thomas More’s Utopia.”

“Thomas More’s what?”

“Bad, Dean. It would be bad,” Sam said.

“So what kind of weapons do you have that will take this thing down?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Well, a rawhead is a physical monster, so we could use bullets, but these things are nasty as hell and a couple bullets won’t stop it before it has a chance to get close. I have a couple tasers I’ve juiced up—that oughta stop it in its tracks.”

“Or you could let me have a crack at it.”

“Nice thought, but if those kids are there I don’t want to give them more nightmare fuel. Keep it in reserve, though,” he added, hoping she wouldn’t be insulted.

“Gotcha,” she said, sketching a quick salute.

They found the house, a structure barely clinging to its foundation. Jayme got out, her new outfit—a black jacket, undershirt, pants, and shoes—nearly invisible in the dark. She’d been able to get them to stop long enough just outside Indiana to have a package delivered to her that contained a much more subtle outfit than Delphinar’s long robes, but one that would also split apart and roll up when she changed. “No more running around barefoot in the cold,” she’d said.

Dean opened the trunk, taking out the tasers. “Hundred thousand volts,” he said, handing one to Sam. “You get one shot, so make it count. Sorry I don’t have one for you, Jayme.”

“No worries. Never liked those things anyway. They’re too unpredictable.”

They headed into the house, Sam and Dean taking the lead, their flashlights out and tasers at the ready. Jayme brought up the rear, the soft soles of her shoes allowing her to move silently. They moved to the cellar, which was dark and cluttered with all manner of debris. From the musty smell and mildew scent rising from water puddled on the floor, she estimated it had been at least ten years since anyone had lived there.

Dean stopped when a wooden rattle drew his attention. He gestured to Sam, his nods saying everything that he didn’t need words for as they turned towards the source of the sound—a battered wooden cupboard.

Jayme moved back and to the side, into the open where she could change without risking taking out the stairs. Sam and Dean counted to three, then yanked the doors open. Instead of a monster, two children cringed back from them, covering their ears.

The Winchesters immediately lowered their weapons. Jayme took a step back, letting them get the kids out, keeping her eyes and ears focused elsewhere. She heard Sam ask them if the creature was still there, to which they nodded. A phantom ridge of fur rose along her back as Dean trained his weapon to cover his brother as he herded the children towards the stairs. Halfway up a huge hand reached out from beneath the stairs, seizing Sam’s ankle and sending him tumbling back down. The children screamed and ran up the stairs to safety.

Dean turned and fired his taser, the probes springing out on their long wires with the buzz of electricity, but they struck nothing.

Dean caught the taser Sam tossed to him. “Get ‘em outta here! Go, go!”

Sam nodded and scrambled to ground level, calling for the children. As soon as they were out of sight Dean turned, walking face-first into a solid wall of fur.

“I’ve got this,” Jayme growled.

“Jayme, now is not the—” he hissed.

“Now is the perfect time,” she rumbled. “Put your light away.”

Dean hesitated. Jayme was still green, and so far she’d only had brief contact with one monster, one that was just as formidable as a rawhead. But that had been in the form of a small female, and right now he was having to crane his neck to look her in the eye. Rawheads were corporeal and susceptible to physical damage; Dean lowered his flashlight and put it out. 

She moved in front of him, her huge form somehow managing to move silently in the crowded, cluttered cellar. And this time, unlike with the scarecrow, he wasn’t going to try to stop her. He followed her, taser in hand.

“Just don’t shoot me with that,” she murmured. “A hundred thousand volts will ruin even my day.”

“Gotcha.”

They crept forward, Dean matching her step for step. Everything was silent just long enough for him to wonder where the damn rawhead was when he glanced to his right at a sudden burst of movement, catching the monster’s blow full on the chin, staggering backwards and falling over some unseen bit of debris.

When he looked up, Jayme had locked arms with the rawhead, her jaws open in a raging snarl. She snapped and bit, trying to force back the creature that was almost as big as she.

Dean got up, watching them fight. He’d seen her in action before but it was still awesome to watch her use that raw power. She sank her teeth into its shoulder, thrashing her body back and forth to try to knock it off balance. In the dark of the cellar he never saw her tail whip around until the spade-shaped bone on the end slammed into his head, sending a burst of white-hot pain through his face.

Knowing he was in danger, he fought to regain his balance, his head ringing, his right eye closed. Half-blind, he tried to get away from the raging creatures, only to step towards them. Moments later he found himself on the floor, ribs screaming, head spinning, the impact hitting him so hard he’d barely been aware of it.

Struggling to his knees, he tried to crawl away. Grinding ribs sent him back down again, struggling for breath as Jayme finally got the upper hand, her massive paws bending the rawhead back until its spine snapped. Sam reached the bottom of the stairs in time for the coup de grace, staring with wide eyes as she broke the rawhead for good.

Motion to his left, a large figure on the ground . . . “Oh, God! Dean!”

Jayme’s head snapped up, the lingering bloodfire draining from her eyes. She looked down at Dean. “Oh my God . . . ”

He was struggling for breath, but he raised his head.

She crouched next to him, her huge fingers running gently over him. “Broken ribs,” she said. “I think he hit his head.”

Dean rolled his head away from her and gagged, holding his ribs with one hand.

“Sam,” she whispered, meeting his gaze with a look of absolute bewilderment. “Sam, I think I did this!”


	2. Chapter 2

Sam’s head snapped up and he looked at her, confused. “You?”

“It’s okay, she didn’t know,” Dean said, gasping for breath.

“Save your breath, Dean.” Sam studied his body. “Can you carry him?”

“Yeah,” she said, hesitating, as if not sure if she should touch him any further. Dean’s hand reached up, grabbing hold of her mane.

“Get me outta here,” he rasped.

She nodded, moving one arm under his legs, the other behind his shoulders. “Just hold onto me,” she said, lifting, her arms moving parallel and cradling him to keep pressure off his ribs. He grunted but made no other sound.

Sam headed up, gathering the kids and taking them around the other side of the house, where they wouldn’t be able to see Jayme in her beast form. She carried Dean out, taking him straight to the Impala and setting him into the passenger seat as gently as she could. She changed back as soon as he was seated, the roll of fabric around her neck unrolling and seaming itself back over her body. She looked at the ugly swelling on his cheek that had forced his eye closed, her eyes filling with tears.

He shook his head slightly. “Don’t.”

“I hurt you,” she whispered. “I should have been more careful.”

“Not your fault.”

Sam came back over with the two children. “Let’s get them to safety. Then you and I are going to talk,” he said, glaring at Jayme.

“Sam . . . ” Dean began, then passed out.

Jayme got in back with the children, her smile reassuring even though it was clear they were in shock. Sam got behind the wheel, driving them to the nearest town. They dropped the children off at the police station, heading off before any questions could be asked.

“Nearest hospital is twenty miles away,” Sam said, keeping parked down the street just long enough to make sure the kids were taken in safely.

“Sam,” Jayme said. “I can take care of Dean a lot faster.”

“He has broken bones, Jayme.”

“I know that,” she growled. “My tools can heal them in minutes and he’ll only be as sore as he’d be with some deep bruises.”

He studied her for a moment. “Fine.”

They headed to the nearest motel in silence, Sam glaring out the windshield, Jayme sitting in the back with her head down.

Dean started to revive as they slowed to a stop.

“It’ll be okay,” Sam said, hoping he sounded reassuring.

“He will,” Jayme said, darting out. “I’ll make sure of that.”

Sam opened his mouth to snarl at her, then froze at Dean’s groan. “Dean, you okay? I mean, we’re here. Think you can make it inside?”

“Will you stop talkin’ like I’m dying?” Dean said, pushing himself up despite the warring pains in his side and his head. “Jayme, get over here and help me.”

“Dean, I can—” Sam began, but Jayme was already out of the back seat.

“Sam, she can help me, okay?” Dean said, his voice quiet and firm. Sam just looked at him, thankful he couldn’t see the nasty swelling that had forced his eye shut.

Jayme reached in, taking Dean’s right arm in hers and bracing him until his legs were out, then moving her shoulder under his arm so he could balance himself to avoid jarring his ribs. Sam got out, running to the motel office to get them checked in. 

“I’m so sorry about this,” she said.

“Do me a favor and give it a rest, huh?” he said, not liking how shaky his voice was. “Least until I can open both my eyes.”

“Okay,” she said, falling silent. They waited for Sam, Dean clinging to Jayme’s shoulders. Despite her slight form next to his, she was as solid as he was. Sam hurried over with the key, opening the door to a nearby room and standing back to let Dean enter.

“My tools are in my bag,” she said. “Would you mind getting it?”

“Yeah,” Sam said, letting concern for Dean override his anger. He fetched their things, coming back in to find Dean sitting on the bed furthest from the door, Jayme already working at getting his coat and shirt off. She was moving carefully, letting him grip the side of her jacket to keep steady.

“Got it,” Sam said. “What can I do?”

“Get my bag out. Lay out the tools here on the bed.” She touched Dean’s cheek, her fingers barely brushing his skin. “Definitely broken.” She picked up the flat device that looked like a PDA and scanned him, the display showing the splintered bone in his cheek. She picked up another of her tools, holding the scanner over the swollen skin as she turned it on. Sam looked over her shoulder, watching again as the injury slowly faded, the bones drawing back together until his cheekbone was whole again. The swelling receded until a red patch was all that was left.

“Do all of you know how to do this?” Dean asked, trying to hold back any sounds of pain as Jayme and Sam helped him lie flat on his uninjured side.

“On Earth, yes. Standard medical training is required before we come here. There’s only one of our doctors on Earth, so we have to be able to take care of the basics. After all, we can’t go to the hospital like you can.”

“With tech like this, why would you want to?” Dean said, fighting back a groan as one of his ribs moved.

“Much more civilized than taping them up,” she said. “Easy, Dean. It’s almost over.”

“Hey, I’m fine,” he said. “I’m doing great.”

Sam crossed his arms, watching as Jayme finished. He couldn’t really tell that Dean had been injured just by looking at him, but the knowledge was enough. Just like it had been when it was Delphinar healing the vicious wound on his shoulder. This was the second time Dean had been badly injured by a neromancer, and he was beginning to like the whole idea of being around them less and less.

As soon as she finished he was right there, checking his brother’s health as best he could. He nudged Jayme out of the way, moving between them. She made a sound of frustration but didn’t stop him. “He needs—”

“I know what he needs!” Sam snapped.

Dean rolled his head to look at him, eyes narrowing.

“Okay, fine. I’ll leave you to it.” She paused, then went to the door, going outside and slamming it behind her.

“I’m fine,” Dean growled out.

“No, you are _not_ fine,” Sam said. “She—”

“Healed me.”

“She’s the one who hurt you!”

“By _accident_. Couple busted ribs and a cheekbone. I’ve had worse and you know it.”

Sam closed his eyes. Typical Dean, never caring about himself. “Yeah, and the next time she might kill you.”

“I know she won’t. Because we know better now, and there won’t _be_ a next time.”

“How can you say that? Things are dangerous enough with the weapons we had before, and now we have someone with us who can toss us around like we’re nothing!”

Dean chuckled, immediately placing a hand on his sore side. “You were the one who wanted her along, Sammy.”

“Yeah, and maybe I made a mistake!”

“I don’t think you did.”

“Dean, she’s too dangerous. I’m sorry I ever said she should come with us.”

“Stop it. Right now. She’s not a danger, now that we know—”

“Listen to yourself! Two weeks ago you didn’t want her along and now after she nearly killed you you’re defending her?” He stood up, feeling the familiar surge of rage and frustration that he often felt around Dean and Dad, when they just took rationality and threw it out the window, curtains and all.

Dean glared at him. “I know her better now. I know what she’s capable of!”

“Do you? After what, five minutes total being around her like that?” Sam shook his head. “Dean, she was enjoying it. The look on her face when she was breaking that rawhead . . . ”

“Yeah, she was breaking the rawhead. I was an accident, Sam!”

“And I suppose you think that makes it okay,” Sam said. “Look, I need a minute. Just . . . ” He waved his hands, heading for the door.

Dean sighed, sinking into the pillows and closing his eyes.

Sam went outside, the cool night air clearing his mind only a fraction. They’d completed the job successfully, rescuing two kids and dispatching a dangerous monster. Dean had been hurt but was in the room with barely a sign that he had been, and none of that made any difference with how angry he felt.

Jayme was leaning on a column down the way near the stairs that led to the upper balcony. He headed for her, getting within ten feet when he could see she was crying.

“Hey,” he said.

“Listen, just pack my stuff and throw it out the door. I’ll get a ride from somewhere.”

“I would, but I don’t think Dean would let me.”

“Then he doesn’t blame me.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

She looked at him. “But you do.”

“Yeah. Dean may not give a damn what happens to him but I do.” He felt the anger rising and let it go; it seemed to boil even hotter when she backed away from him, lowering her head. He grabbed her arms, pulling her closer. “Why are you cringing? What are you so nervous about, huh? Do you really think I could hurt you!?” Quite independent of himself, he found himself shaking her like a disobedient child, and instead of fighting back, or changing, or even growling, she curled in on herself, ducking her head until her hair hung over her face.

“Sam. Let her go.”

The words broke through the haze of Sam’s fury. Dean was standing behind them, one arm pressed against his sore side. “Let her go, Sammy. It’s not her fault.”

Sam looked back at Jayme, slowly taking his hands off her arms. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.”

“Jayme, c’mon back in,” Dean said, stepping back and letting her precede him. After she’d passed he stopped Sam. “Sam, this is not the first time you or I have almost been killed. Point is I wasn’t. You need to lay off her.”

“I didn’t even realize I was, until—”

“She was cowering like a kicked puppy?”

Sam blinked, staring at his brother. It hadn’t occurred to him until Dean had come right out and said it. “Do you think she—?”

“I don’t know,” Dean said. “But between this and her nightmares something’s going on, and we’d better find out what it is.”

Sam followed Dean back in, forcing his quickly-fading anger down and away. He wasn’t really angry with Jayme, not when he saw how miserable she looked, how much she was clearly beating herself up more than he ever could.

“So,” Dean said.

She looked up at him. “So.”

Deciding that Dean’s tough-guy routine was not the best move, Sam approached, sitting across from her. “Something’s going on with you, and I think you should tell us.”

“I already tried that, Sammy. Got the ‘none of your business’ line.”

“Seems like it’s our business now,” Sam said.

“You’re right,” she said. “Although . . . when I tell you, you’ll probably shove me out of this room and lock the door behind me, if I’m lucky.”

“Try us,” Dean said. “Or we will.”

Realizing that they had just laid down an ultimatum, she sighed. “I never wanted my personal life or my hangups to interfere with you, and for that I’m sorry.”

“Jayme, we wrote the friggin’ book on being screwed up,” Dean said with a snort.

“Please,” Sam said. “It’s okay.”

“My whole life growing up, it was mostly my father, my sister, and me. Ahma was with us for my younger years, then she came back here. She’d visit a few times a year, but that was it. So it was just the three of us. And Adha . . . didn’t like that I listened to Ahma talk about Earth, didn’t like that I wanted to come here, and he’d get frustrated when I’d defy him.”

Sam and Dean shared an uncomfortable look. “So he beat you?” Dean asked bluntly.

“Not in the way you’d understand it, but yes. He was bigger than me and my sister was bigger, and that’s all he needed. And it wasn’t just that either.”

“He indimidated you. Belittled you. Made you feel like crap so you’d bend to his will,” Sam said.

“You sound like you’ve been there before.”

“Not exactly, but I know what it’s like." He risked a sidelong glance at Dean, who seemed unaffected. “Did you ever tell your Mom?”

“No. I couldn’t. Adha always told me before she’d come home that if I said anything or let on that things weren’t happy and perfect that I’d be in . . . ‘real trouble’ when she left. I was too scared to try.”

“What about after you left?”

She sighed. “There was no point. It was over and I got out of there and by then there was nothing she could have done except go back and kill them.”

“You think she would have done that?”

“I don't know. I didn’t want to take the chance. Why burden her with something that couldn't be changed?”

“So what did he do?” Dean was glad Sam was there to turn on the empathy and gentleness. Right now he wanted to shout and curse—and not at Jayme.

“He’d yell, get in my face, back me into a corner where I couldn’t escape . . . when my sister would get too rough with me, he wouldn’t intervene or tell her off. If we fought he’d always take her side. He made it so that she was the favorite daughter and I couldn’t do anything right.”

“Which is why you looked like you wanted to dive out of the car that night when I yelled at you,” Dean said.

“Yeah.” She rubbed her eyes. “When things like that happen, sometimes it’s like I’m back there, and every nasty word comes flooding into my head and every negative feeling until I feel like I’m drowning. I can’t fight back, so the only thing to do is make myself small and wait for it to be over.”

“Why can’t you fight back?” Dean said. “You could have knocked my block off, so why didn’t you?”

“No, I _couldn’t have_. That’s the whole point. Here, I can’t lose my temper. I can’t _let_ fear drive me in that direction.”

“Because you could hurt someone,” Sam said.

“Because I could kill someone. I let my attention slip for _ten seconds_ tonight and look what happened!”

Dean shrugged. “I didn’t exactly pay attention either.”

“That’s sweet, but it was my fault. I got caught up in _adhersnahya_ and I forgot myself.”

“Ad-thers-what?” Dean asked.

“ _Adhersnahya_. I guess you’d call it adrenaline. Basic idea’s the same. It literally means ‘blade of blood.’ When I had my jaws locked on that thing, and we were fighting—”

“You got excited. You enjoyed it.”

She looked down. “Yeah, I did. It’s the first time in years—the first time since I came here—that I really got to let loose.”

Dean pulled out his phone.

Jayme and Sam watched as he dialed. “Bobby. Yeah, it’s—no, I don’t—yeah.” He was silent for a moment. “I need a favor. No, we’re okay. Listen, do you know of any out of the way places we could hole up for a few days, no one around?”

Jayme looked at Sam, raising an eyebrow. Sam just frowned, unable to follow his brother’s logic.

“Well, we need to lie low for a few days, but no, not because we’re in trouble. No. Look, I can’t really explain right now, okay? I just need somewhere me and Sam can go where no one is around. Doesn’t matter. No. Okay. Thanks, Bobby.”

He faced the pairs of eyes staring at him. “Bobby knows a place. Old cabin that used to belong to a buddy of his. Been abandoned for years, and it’s out in the middle of nowhere.”

“Dean,” Sam began.

Dean just glared. “Sam, I know what you’re gonna say. Can it. Jayme, you’re okay. I don’t want anybody talking about anything until tomorrow.” He picked up his keys. “Sam, go get us some beer and snacks and whatever is it you eat.” He waited until Sam had stalked from the room, closing the door behind him, the Impala’s engine firing up a few moments later. “Jayme, relax. I’m not putting you in the doghouse.”

“He’s worried about you,” Jayme said. “And he’s angry.”

“Which would be fine if you did it on purpose. You didn’t, so I don’t know what the hell he’s so upset about.”

She tilted her head a little. “I don’t understand you, Dean. You got so angry when I tried to take on that scarecrow that I thought you were gonna hit me or push me out of the car, and now I almost killed you and it’s everything is magically forgiven?”

“You didn’t almost kill me! For God’s sake, it was an _accident_! I’m fine, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, but she looked anything but reassured.


	3. Chapter 3

That night and the next morning were the most tense Dean had experienced since the last time Dad and Sam had had one of their blowouts. Jayme and Sam tiptoed around each other, and neither of them said more than two words to Dean. That was fine; he could deal with that. He’d dealt with it almost his whole life, a little while longer didn’t make any difference.

“So where exactly are we going?” Sam asked once Jayme had headed out to the car with her things.

“You heard. Cabin in the woods.”

“Yeah, I heard. What _for_?”

“You’ll see.”

“No, Dean! Unless you tell me right now I’m not going!”

“Then stay here. I don’t give a crap.” He grabbed his bag and jacket and headed for the door. “So, you comin’ or what?”

Sam growled under his breath and followed his brother out.

They headed north, Dean checking the directions Bobby had given him. They moved from the flat land of Iowa north to Minnesota, prairie and cornfields yielding to more and more woods, past Rochester and up to Red Wing, into dense woods in and around the hills. They stopped at a small general store at the foot of a long twisting road and stocked up on food, enough for at least a few days of roughing it.

“Do you know anything about what’s up there?” Sam asked, looking over a shelf of Spam at Dean.

“I know there’s a cabin, Bobby says it’s in the middle of nowhere and no one’s there.”

“Which means it might be about to fall over.”

Dean just shrugged. “If it is, we’ll sleep in the car. No big deal.”

Sam just shook his head. Dean was acting too much like Dad and it was starting to get under his skin way more than it should have. He focused on trying to find something moderately healthy to eat, knowing that Dean would be content to survive for a week on pork rinds and beer if he had to. He turned, nearly bumping into Jayme, who held what looked like an entire side of beef in her hands. “Midnight snack?” he asked, hoping he sounded less gruff than he felt.

“If I didn’t look like this, maybe,” she said, winking.

“Listen, I’m . . . I’m sorry about last night,” he said. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Forgiven,” she said. “You had every right to be angry. And I understand.”

He nodded, watching her head up to the counter where Dean was getting ready to pay, fighting with him over who was going to cover it. She finally won, snatching his wallet away and throwing it down one of the aisles. He chuckled despite himself, adding his things to the pile. “You don’t like letting other people pay, do you?”

“Not when I have a pile of money I’m not using,” she said. She picked up one of the boxes, shoving it into Dean’s hands.

“That was a dirty move,” he groused.

“Of course it was!” she said, picking up the other. “I’m just surprised you fell for it.”

“Don’t even look at me, Dean. This was your idea,” Sam said, smirking as he picked up his bags.

The clerk gave the odd trio a long look as they piled into the Impala and pulled out in a spray of gravel. He took note of their direction and wondered what they were going to do up in the woods, then returned to his work, giving them no further thought.

 

 

The cabin was set deep in the woods, surrounded on all sides by trees that kept it shielded from any prying eyes. True to Bobby’s word, it had been abandoned for some time, so that the rough gravel drive that led to it was overgrown with weeds and nearly invisible, Dean almost missing the turn. It wasn’t as decrepit as Sam had feared, but it was weatherbeaten and in disrepair, with a sagging carport roof that looked ready to collapse. Dean wisely parked the car on the other side.

“Doesn’t look so bad,” Jayme said, getting out.

“From the outside,” Sam replied, giving the place a doubtful look.

“Only way to find out is to go in,” Dean said, grabbing a flashlight. He went up the few warped steps to the door, touching the rusted knob with caution and finding it unlocked. Holding the light up, he pushed it open, stepping in warily.

From the amount of dust resting on every flat surface, it had been months if not years since anyone had been inside. The windows were caked with grime and latticed with cobwebs. There was a single battered sofa near the dark fireplace, and a bed in the corner, both of which still looked usable.

He looked for a lightswitch and found none. Shining his light around, he spotted several old lanterns hanging on the walls. They would have to do.

“Well?” Sam called from outside.

“It’s not exactly as luxurious as a motel room but it’ll do,” Dean said. “Grab the lighter fluid from the trunk, willya?”

“Planning on burning it down already?” Jayme quipped.

Dean glared briefly, but somehow it was hard to be mad at her smile for long. He caught the lighter fluid Sam tossed to him. “We got some oil lamps in there, but if they’re empty I’ll have to improvise.”

“I’m so lucky to be with such handy guys,” Jayme said, fetching one of the boxes.

“It wasn’t choice,” Sam said, getting the other. “Our dad wouldn’t have stood for less.”

It took Dean a few minutes to get one of the lamps fired up, fiddling with the other while Sam and Jayme unpacked. There was an antiquated icebox next to the counter that would suffice to keep perishables from spoiling once securely nestled in the contents of one of the ice bags they’d purchased. While Jayme took care of that, Sam rooted around for a broom, sweeping the floor as best he could until the cabin was in some semblance of habitability. The problem of running water was solved when Jayme found a working pump outside, and a small outhouse around the other side of the cabin solved the question of facilities.

“No shower, no hot water, great,” Sam grumbled.

“I can boil some over the fire and mix it with some cold for washing up,” Jayme said.

“So, are you gonna tell us what we’re here for, or is it still need-to-know?” Sam asked once they’d finished checking the couch for any rats or insects and flipped the cushions.

“Training,” Dean said.

“Who?”

“All of us.” He set the lantern down. “Jayme, if you’re gonna be with us, then we need to see what you can do, and spend more than a few seconds at a time around your beast forms. Woulda done it earlier but we got kinda busy right after we picked you up. And you need to feel comfortable around us, so you’re not always thinking you’re about to step on us.”

“Makes sense,” she said.

“Good. And me and Sam are gonna teach you the basics. This isn’t the best kind of job to learn while you’re doing it.”

“Yeah, I kinda got that after that scarecrow vented my jacket.”

“Now I see why you wanted someplace out of the way,” Sam said. “So no one will see her.”

“Exactly. Can’t have some stupid jogger thinkin’ he’s seen Bigfoot.”

“And you couldn’t have told us this last night?” Sam said.

Dean just shrugged. “Figured I’d wait until you were here and couldn’t give me a hard time.” He went over to the counter, poking around their supplies. “I’m gonna go back down to that store and get some more ice. We pack up that icebox real good and it should hold for a few days. Sam, why don’t you get her started? Give her Hunting 101.”

Sam nodded. “Sure.” He waited until Dean had gone, the rumble of the Impala fading to silence. “Not sure where to begin.”

“How about with a question?” she said, and he braced himself for some kind of personal inquiry. “Why did burning down that tree stop that scarecrow?”

He almost laughed. “Well, basically the kinds of things we hunt live by certain rules. They follow patterns that can be predicted. There’s usually lore that explains what they are and why they follow those patterns.”

“So the scarecrow wasn’t the pagan god—the vanir—itself, right?”

“Exactly. It’s a . . . physical form manipulated to carry out the sacrifices.”

“Then the god was in the tree.”

“Possibly. Can’t say for certain, but we know that once the tree was dead, the power that was keeping the town alive was destroyed.”

“And thus the scarecrow. No more god, no more scarecrow, no more sacrifices.”

“In theory, yeah.”

“In theory.”

He smiled. “We can’t always be one hundred percent sure. We do what we can with the information we have, and if things come back, so do we.”

“And how many times do things ‘come back’?”

“I’m not sure. Not very often, and when they do it’s usually because it wasn’t what we thought it was the first time. Or it’s much more powerful than we thought. Don’t neromancers have monsters, legends, ghost stories?”

She hopped up on the counter. “A few here and there. Ancient myths about the _tkhohtk_ and the _asyehya_.”

“The tk . . . “ Sam trailed off, unable to reproduce the word, which sounded like an emerging hairball.

She laughed. “You have to sort of spit it out. It means ‘one from under,’ what I guess you’d call a demon. The _asyehya_ are divine beings who oppose the _tkhohtk_. Not quite angels but it’s the closest equivalent.”

“What about ghosts, spirits?” he asked.

“Not really. We believe that when we die, our energy, what animates us—our soul, I guess—rejoins the energy of the universe, but there aren’t any stories about that energy hanging around. There are ancient legends from before we achieved spaceflight, but they kind of died out. Most humanoid cultures have way more imagination than we do in that sense.”

He nodded. “Wonder why that is.”

She pulled her legs up, crossing them. “Ghosts and monsters are pretty scary. Humans create all manner of stories and legends to explain the unexplainable. But one of the things you learn when you explore the galaxy like we have is that there are creatures and species out there to rival any monster. They’re real, and some of them are nightmarish. Who needs ghost stories when you have the real thing?”

“Yeah, but ghosts _are_ real.”

“How many people on this planet really believe that? On this planet believing in ghosts gets you chased by the guys with the butterly nets. It’s not as if anyone has the luxury of pretending some of the alien species out there don’t exist—though I’m sure there are millions who wish they could.”

“Sounds like space is just as dangerous and messed up as here.”

“There are older and fouler things than orcs in the deep places of the universe.”

Sam shook his head. “Then you’re probably more suited to this job than we are.”

The joking, smirking façade dropped. “Don’t be too sure about that.”


	4. Chapter 4

When Dean got back, the last of the afternoon light fading, he paused after getting out of the car. He wasn’t sure if he’d been expecting to hear yelling or shouting or see a Sam-sized hole in the wall of the cabin where she’d thrown him out, but everything was quiet. He went to the trunk, retrieving not only the ice but the lamp oil he’d picked up.

He went inside with some of the same misgivings—maybe they were fighting quietly. It was a dumb thought but then again he was the one who’d left Sam with an alien capable of ripping his brother in two.

For a split second he thought they were fighting; Jayme was swiping at Sam, but they were both laughing. “What joke did I miss?”

“Jayme is trying to rationalize what we do, Dean.”

“I am not. I just think that maybe . . . well, maybe there might be some non-magical explanations.”

“Like what?” Dean said, taking out the lamp oil and reaching for the nearest lantern.

“You say it, Jayme. It’s over my head,” Sam said.

“Ghosts, for example. You get rid of spirits by salting and burning the bones, right? Okay, well, what if it’s just a coherent electro-chemical echo bound to the organic matter in the corpse, and an infusion of sodium chloride in addition to a combustible chemical reaction breaks that bond and releases the energy?”

Sam looked at Dean, a peculiar smirk on his face. “I don’t think I understood half of what you just said,” Dean replied.

“The energy—the ghost itself—remains here because for whatever reason it’s bound to the organic material left behind, because even bones still retain genetic material in the marrow. Once you burn the remains, the chemical reaction of the fire and the salt destroys that organic residue and breaks that bond, and the energy doesn’t have anything to connect to.”

“Jesus, Sam, I told you to teach her, not get her _excited_ about this stuff!” Dean said with mock crossness as he lit up the lantern. “Does sort of make sense, but it’s not always as simple as that. Where’d you get all that from, Jayme?”

“I come from an advanced culture,” she said. “We learn advanced mathematics and sciences from a much younger age. This is the frame of reference I come from, so my brain tries to fit things into that frame, if that makes sense.”

“Just keep one thing in mind,” Dean said. “These things can’t be reasoned with. You can’t talk to them or make peace with them.”

“I think she understands that point,” Sam said. “There are . . . things out there in space that apparently make wendigos look like puppy dogs.”

“Like what?”

“The Sel’ve’th,” Jayme said. “They draw all the life out of a being by wrapping their main tendrils around the victim’s neck. If you’re lucky you die of strangulation before your body falls to dust. The Kaal-vaa-tu. They, like the ancient Aztecs, enjoy ripping the hearts out of living bodies and eating them raw. The—”

“Okay, okay, we get it!” Dean said, waving her away. “Man, remind me not to go on vacation with you!”

“And have they killed many neromancers?” Sam asked.

“Not a one. We don’t wander the galaxy alone, and when you threaten one of us, you threaten all of us.”

“Now that’s a policy I can get behind,” Dean said. “Hey Sam, get a fire going, huh? Warm this place up a little. I’m friggin’ starving.”

“Good. I got a really nice cut of meat if you boys want to share,” Jayme said. “It’s not hamburger, but I’m sure it’ll do.”

There wasn’t anything in the cabin that could really be called a kitchen but there was a sink and counter and a small island; once Jayme had scrubbed them down they looked acceptable for cooking. Dean pulled out the surprise he’d kept in the trunk—a camp stove that he set up while Jayme took out her meat, slicing and spicing it while Sam sliced up some of the vegatables he’d managed to sneak in. The atmosphere was almost homey once the meat started cooking, Jayme repeatedly chasing Dean away from the stove.

“You never mentioned any women,” Sam said, half-musing as his knife reduced a cucumber to sections.

“Excuse me?” Jayme said, catching Dean’s hand as he reached and turning her body, holding him immobile.

“Jayme, c’mon, just one piece!” Dean said.

“It’s not done yet and you’ll get e.coli now git!” she said, bumping him hard with her hip. Dean backed off, shaking his elbow. 

Sam just shook his head, almost laughing. “Nevermind, I know the answer.”

“Good, because I don’t remember a question.”

“It’s nothing, it’s just . . . you talk about all these guys you’ve hung around with, but you’ve never mentioned any girls.”

She snatched a piece of cucumber. “I prefer guys. I get along with you better.”

“No shit,” Dean said, contenting himself with a beer while they were cooking.

“I come from a matriarchal society. Not like ‘women rule and men are slaves’ or anything, but traditionally the centers of power have rested with us. We’re bigger and stronger and we tend to live longer. Now we’re about equal when it comes to power, but even so—certain guys on this planet remind me more of the women on mine.”

Dean looked at Sam. “So we’re a couple of chicks?” He felt an inward movement, a settling when both Jayme and Sam gave him nearly identical bitchfaces. Things were starting to move back to normal and suddenly being in a drafty, dusty cabin with no electricity or heat or TV didn’t seem like a mistake at all.

“Don’t go buying any makeup or heels any time soon,” Jayme said, flipping the pieces of meat with ease. “God, those things are so stupid. Perching on some little tiny stick where one wrong move can tip you over—you know it’s a miracle more women don’t break themselves?”

“Yeah, but it makes your legs look so nice,” Dean said.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Dean stammered. “W-When I mean ‘your,’ I mean women in general. I mean, not that you’re a woman—well, I mean you are, I just didn’t mean—”

“Relax before you choke on your tongue, Dean. I know what you meant.” She stabbed a piece of meat with her fork, holding it out to him. “Here, try.”

Dean took it, sniffing it carefully before eating. “Holy _crap_ is that good!”

Jayme took another piece, handing it to Sam. “Give it a try. Nice and lean, just a little spice.”

Sam took it. “Wow, that is good.”

“She cooks, she cleans, she can break a rawhead in half, I say we keep her,” Dean said, raising his beer. Sam glanced over and saw Jayme’s smile, which did not get near her eyes.

“What is it?” he whispered after Dean had settled on the couch with an enormous sandwich.

“Nothing,” she said. “Nothing . . . that I want to get into now.”

“Okay,” he said.

 

 

“So there we are on the side of a Scottish road in Bumfuck Nowhere, and every time I try to change into my beast form to get the van out of the ditch, another car comes flying along. We’re all getting wetter and madder and I thought a fight was going to break out, then Pete slips in the wet grass and the tension took a hike.”

Dean laughed. From his sprawled position on the couch, Sam did too. “And you never thought about just calling a tow truck?”

“They insisted I try. Keith even wanted to sit on my back. Incurable showoff, that boy.” She reached for her beer sitting on top of the makeshift coffee table—an old crate Dean had scrounged—they’d put in front of the couch. They’d also found two more lanterns, putting them around the small room so that it was lit up enough to see while still retaining an odd, cozy air. Eating had yielded to conversation that all three had deliberately kept light.

“You spent a lot of time with them, huh?” Dean said, finishing his beer and reaching for another after handing one to Sam.

“Yeah. There was a special connection there. Doesn’t mean I didn’t get to know a lot of other people—never get into a poker game with the Grateful Dead, by the way—but those four stubborn louts were the first real friends I’d ever had.”

“I’m sorry they’re gone,” Sam said. “Well, half of them.”

“Yeah. Thanks. I mean, I knew it would happen sooner or later, I just wasn’t betting that ‘soon’ would be that soon.” She stared at the fire burning brightly in the fireplace, her eyes catching the flames. “But I have my memories, and those I get to keep forever.”

“A few are still here,” Dean said. “You sure you won’t introduce me to some of them someday?”

“Never said I wouldn’t, Dean. If we happen to pass in any of their circles, sure.”

“You’re just sad you’re too young to have met Keith Moon or John Bonham,” Sam said.

Dean shrugged. “Can’t win ‘em all. I’m hanging out with one of their friends. Close enough for me.”

Jayme smiled, playing with her shoelaces. “Yeah, those were good times. Not always fun, but it was the most alive I’d ever felt. Until now.”

“Glad you added that,” Dean teased.

“Well, I never did get to break any rawheads when I was roaming around with the Who.”

“Would they have known what to do?” Sam asked in all seriousness.

She leaned back against the couch, tilting her head back. “Well . . . Keith would have tried to blow it up, I think Pete would have flung his guitar at it, John would have just stared at it, and Roger . . . well, he might have tried to punch it.”

Dean started to laugh.

Sam grinned, shaking his head. “And you would have changed forms, no matter who saw, and taken it out.”

“I just might have.”

“And hopefully they would have ducked,” Dean said, ducking her swipe.

“Like that,” Sam gestured with his beer.

The fire burned low and conversation drifted off; Jayme and Dean sat side by side, staring at the reddening embers, lost in thought.

Dean frowned suddenly. “You hear that?”

“I don’t hear anything.”

“Exactly. Sammy’s quiet.” He turned to check on his brother.

Sam was nestled on his back, his head turned and facing the fire. He was fast asleep.

Dean smiled fondly. “I swear he’s about six when he sleeps.”

Her smile had a wicked tinge to it. “So are you.”

“Shut up, I am not.”

She just smirked, looking up at the ceiling. “Whatever you say . . . ”

“I’m at least thirteen,” he grinned.

“Maybe. Not like you suck your thumb.”

“Don’t think I do,” he said, emptying his beer. “Either this floor is hard or I’m tired.”

“It’s not just you,” she said, uncurling her legs and stretching. “I think bed is calling.”

Dean stood up, looking at Sam. It was the first time in weeks—or maybe the first time since Jessica—that he looked relaxed and peaceful, his face reminding him of the kid it seemed he’d been the week before. He moved to wake him, then stopped.

“You know, the bed over there is full size, but I think it might be a little small for the two of you,” Jayme said, her voice a soft purr at his side. “Since we’re roughing it, maybe you wouldn’t mind a smaller bedmate. I promise to keep my hands and tail to myself.”

“If you wanted to get me in bed, Jayme, all you had to do was ask.”

His sleepy smirk was matched by hers. “Thought you didn’t sleep with aliens.”

“Hey, unless you’re planning to go all Chewbacca on me, we’re not talking bestiality here. I’ve bunked with my brother, my father, I’ve slept with more g—it’s not my first time sleeping next to someone of the opposite sex, okay?”

“Okay. And if I start having a bad dream, just nudge my shoulder. I promise not to hurt you.”

“Deal.” He capitulated way too easily. That was a sure sign, Jayme was learning, that Dean was beyond tired.

They’d de-dusted the mattress as much as possible, putting down a blanket in lieu of sheets that had long ago gone missing. Jayme had brought in the large fleece blanket she used to keep warm in the car, finding it big enough to serve as covers. She changed clothes while his back was turned, doing him the same courtesy. Allowing him the customary side nearest the door, she crawled in first.

He checked the door and windows, making sure they were secure and that the salt lines were unbroken. With no working lock, he’d improvised a board wedged against the knob. If anything or anyone was determined enough to get by it, he’d be there, gun in hand with a clear sightline. Satisfied that things were secure, he headed to the bed, checking the gun under his pillow before settling in.

“Do you always sleep with a weapon?” she asked.

“Since I don’t have fangs and claws, yeah.”

“I hope that’s not all you think I am. Just a monster with a six-foot reach.”

“You’re not a monster,” he said, almost snapping at her. “Monsters go around killing people and you don’t, okay? Now go to sleep; we got a long day tomorrow.”

Jayme stayed awake for a few more minutes, studying his features in the encroaching darkness as the firelight faded. When he was asleep, the cares and worries seemed to fade from him, leaving a peace that filled her with a curious longing. _Whatever else happens_ , she promised him, _I’ll watch over you_.


	5. Chapter 5

Living on the road had been the only life Sam Winchester had ever known until Stanford and Jessica, minus the odd times they’d landed for a few weeks or months in a stable place, just long enough for Sam to get some schooling in, to get settled just enough to make a few friends before being pulled somewhere else. It was a life that suited Dean just fine, but it had never sat well with him. He saw other kids, kids who went to houses that stayed put, that had mothers and fathers and bedrooms and kitchens and garages where the car went in and the door closed behind it. For years he’d longed for that life, to just be a normal kid who went to school and went home and had to deal with homework and nothing more frightening than bullies or pimples or who to ask out on a date. The ideal life. Normalcy.

Sam opened his eyes, letting the familiar sensation wash over him, of relaxing, letting his mind tell him where he was in the long succession of ceilings he’d seen over the years.

It was quiet, the kind of dusty, dry, dead kind of quiet that came with the sudden occupation of an area that had been uninhabited for a while. Things were unsettled, but there were still spots, corners that hadn’t been touched and were still static.

He sat up, his foot knocking over a couple errant beer bottles. Somewhere during the night someone had tucked a blanket around him; between it and the fire he’d been warm.

His sleepy mind registered that besides the old sofa there was only one bed, and since he had just gotten up from the sofa . . . 

Dean was on his side, his face firmly mashed into the rolled-up bundle he was using as a pillow. The blanket that covered the bed’s occupants was pooled around two pairs of legs that were nearly touching.

Jayme was curled up against his back, her face nestled between his shoulder blades, her hands drawn up under her chin. It was clear that she’d done it for warmth rather than from any romantic feelings, but a look of contentment was on her face just the same.

“Sam?” Dean said, his eyes opening. “What the hell is that behind me?” He started to move, Sam reaching out quickly and stopping him.

“Relax, it’s Jayme,” Sam said, letting go of Dean’s shoulder. “You were about to roll over on her.”

“And what the hell is she doing hugged up against me?”

“Keeping warm,” Jayme said. “This place doesn’t exactly have central heating.”

“Forgot what a light damn sleeper you are,” Dean said without rancor. “Put your eyeballs back in your head, Sammy. This isn’t the first time we’ve slept together.”

Jayme laughed, rolling away from Dean. “Fully clothed both times, Sam. Your brother makes a good heating pad.”

After a quick breakfast they headed outside, Jayme wearing her special outfit. She looked decidedly uncomfortable as Dean and Sam flanked her. “Okay, so is this where you guys jump me?”

“What?” Sam asked.

“I don’t know; looks like you two are getting ready to attack.”

“And if we were, what were you planning to do about it?” Dean said.

“Try it and see.”

“Dean, maybe you should—” Sam began, his words cut off when Dean grabbed Jayme by the front of her jacket. Her fists came up, knocking his hands away, then it was her turn to grab him, swinging her body up and to the side, giving her the momentum to wrap her legs around his shoulders, pulling him off his feet and spinning him to the leafy ground. “Nevermind. Carry on,” he said, grinning at the gobsmacked look on Dean’s face.

“How the hell did you do that?” Dean said.

“Physics, lower gravity, and lots of training,” she said, reaching down to pinch his cheek.

“Lower gravity?” Sam asked as Jayme offered Dean a hand, which he refused with a snort.

“Gravity on my planet is three times higher than here. Gives me an advantage.”

“That’s why you’re so strong, huh?” Dean asked, getting to his feet.

She nodded. “You would be too on a planet with a third of Earth’s gravity. Your moon has one-sixth, which is why Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin looked like they were floating when they hopped.”

Sam was grinning openly. “Looks like you got your butt kicked by a girl, Dean.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m quite sure with a little training you two could take me,” she said, dusting off her pants. “If you worked together.”

“With a little training?” Dean said, looking at Sam. “Oh, it’s on now.”

“Dean, we’re not going—”

“You heard her, Sam! She’s challenging us! C’mon, get mad for once!” Despite Dean’s words and volume there was a teasing glint in his eyes with just a hint of danger. It was a look Sam knew well.

“In that case,” Jayme said, taking off her jacket and setting it aside. Underneath she wore just a tank top, her skin goosebumping slightly in the chill air. She took out a rubber band from her pocket, tying her hair back.

“Dean, we can’t—”

“Boys, we are all on equal footing here,” she said. “I’m tough and I can roughhouse with the best. So take the chivalrous stuff and cram it, okay?”

Dean swung at her, a full-on punch that should have knocked her out. She leaned back from it, turning her body in counterpoint to his and kicking his legs out from under him. Sam grabbed her around the shoulders, locking his forearm over her chest. Any other girl would have found it impossible to break free, but the body he was holding wasn’t human. She looked human, felt human, even smelled human, but the muscles tensing under his hands were anything but.

“Good hold,” she said. “But you’re off-balance.” She wrenched her body forward and down hard, and Sam found himself yanked off his feet and tossed over, Jayme landing on top of him, her elbow tagging his ribs.

Dean waited until she’d rolled off of Sam, then lunged at her, catching her around the middle. She tumbled with him, rolling until he was face down in the leaves with her straddling his back. “Interesting view.”

He pushed himself up. “Get off me.”

“Aw, did the girl best the big strong man?” she teased.

“No, but you’re breaking my back!”

“Wimp,” she said, hopping off. She moved back into a crouch, like a cat or dog waiting to pounce or be pounced. He groaned and rolled onto his back, then slid forward and swiped her legs out from under her. She rolled with him, winding her legs around his middle; Sam leaped, landing on top of her and pinning her.

“Say uncle,” Sam said.

“Well, at this juncture, I think I’m going to have to,” Jayme said, unable to move. “Uncle.” They stood up, Jayme waiting until they were upright before she shifted, grinning down at Sam. “Round two?”

“I think the old man down there is done in,” Sam laughed.

“You suck,” Dean groaned.

“Well, you wanted to see my beast form, so here it is,” she said. “Take a good look.”

Dean stared at her for a long moment. “You’re spectacular.”

“Why are you still on the ground?” Sam asked.

“Can’t catch my breath,” Dean wheezed softly.

Jayme leaned over, reaching down with one long arm. “I’m so sorry, Dean, I forgot about your ribs, dammit I’ve done it again . . . ”

Quick as thought he lunged up, grabbing her huge forearm and yanking with his full weight. She was leaned over far enough to be off-balance, Dean’s mass enough to bring her down. He rolled on top of her and pressed his forearm to her throat. He was smirking and no longer wheezing.

“Nice trick,” she said. “Lucky we’re friends, otherwise you’d be in big trouble.” She gently gripped his arms and Dean could feel without having to struggle that he was rooted there as efficiently as if he were buried in cement.

Their eyes met, Dean really looking at her, trying to see the cute human face in the animal, trying to figure out if he really saw a monster in her. He couldn’t get the damn Lion King out of his head as he took in the big green eyes with their round pupils, ringed in black with white corners, the broad, flat head and shorter, compact muzzle that was more tiger than canine. Her fur was sleek and a shimmering red, going from a lighter tinge with the shorter fur on her body to a deeper, almost black when it reached her mane.

This was a predator, a hunter meant to stalk, pounce, and kill. But there was nothing savage or cruel in her gaze. There was danger there, to be sure, but her grip was gentle, her eyes filled with warmth and amusement, not anger or hunger.

“You gonna let me up?”

The muzzle twitched, revealing just a hint of teeth. “And where would you go?” she said, her words literally vibrating through his body as she started to laugh. She released his arms, waiting until he was upright before she got up, shaking the leaves off. They looked so much smaller standing next to her, an angle she found she didn’t prefer.

Sam moved back a little, getting her full measure. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“You sure?” Dean asked. “Jayme . . . ” he said when she didn’t answer.

“I feel like a freak, okay?” she said, the words sounding odd at an octave lower and coming from a creature who made Sam look short.

“What?” the brothers chorused.

“Ever been in a room full of little kids? That’s how I feel. Like if I move too fast I’ll knock one of you through a tree.” She lifted her tail, moving it around so Dean could get a good look at the bone on the end. “I thrashed this and nearly took your head off.”

Dean touched the wicked-looking bone. “It’s warm.”

Sam moved closer, reaching out to touch it as well. “Where’d this come from?” he asked. 

She was momentarily speechless from their lack of fear. “We used to have thicker tails with bigger vertebrae, but we evolved with the sleeker tails, keeping that last segment for balance.”

“Is there muscle, or just bone and skin?” Sam asked.

“Bone, with a thin epidermal layer. Skin, Dean,” she said, grinning at Dean’s glare.

“Smartass.”

“Didn’t you have any training being around humans in this form?” Sam asked.

“Enough to know how fragile you all are. We don’t expect to be around humans like this for any length of time.”

“I think you underestimate us,” Sam said. “We’re not going to break if you look at us sideways.”

“Look, no. But one good shove and I can knock both of you through a wall.”

Sam just shook his head. She looked so uncomfortable, and he didn’t blame her; it’s how he felt around “normal” people. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of, Jayme. It’s who you are. And you’re not the first powerful, dangerous thing we’ve been around.”

“Only difference is you’re on our side,” Dean said. “And next time you’re fighting something, I’ll make sure and give you plenty of room.”

“I wish it were that simple,” she said. “The risk of collateral damage is too high.”

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice getting more firm. “If we need your strength, you better be willing to change and kick some ass, hear me?”

“Why?” she snarled, her teeth drawing back from fangs that were fully three inches long. “So you guys can get hurt from me rather than some other monster?”

“I told you you’re not a damn monster!” Dean snarled, punching her in the shoulder. “Risk is part of the job! It’s what we do! With you watching our backs, we’re a lot safer! We just have to be smart, okay?” He looked at her, meeting her snarl with an implacable gaze. “Go ahead, get angry.”

“No,” she said, relaxing her muzzle. “That is a luxury I can’t afford.”

“What, scared?” he said, punching her again. “That’s it, isn’t it? Afraid of getting mad, losing control, huh?” To Sam’s astonishment he slapped her face, slamming his palm into the side of her head hard enough to turn it. “You’re just a big damn chicken!”

Her ears, more curved and pointy than a lion’s or tiger’s, laid back against her skull as she growled, a bass rumble that echoed from her chest. “Fine. You want mad?” She walked over to the sagging carport roof, her tail already beginning to thrash. With a roar she spun, the end of her tail slamming into the four-by-four post, splintering it. The roof creaked and started to collapse as she moved under it, reaching up to grab the beams. Her roar rising to a blaring sound that made their flesh crawl, she ripped it free, carrying it over to two trees that stood near each other. She lowered the roof until it leaned against them. Despite its delapidated state, it was still made of solid wood that even so was no match for her fists as she smashed through it, punching holes through the tar and shingle before lifting both fists and bringing them down like a giant sledgehammer.

Dean walked over, standing very near the end of the roof, watching her systematically reduce it to firewood and debris. When she reached the end her clawed hands tore the remaining bits; she grabbed one of the last intact bits of wood and moved to hurl it—spotting him at the last second she stretched up, the wood flying harmlessly over his head with several feet to spare.

He smirked, brushing a few splinters of wood from his coat. “Not bad. Didn’t even come close to me that time.” He looked up. “I told you. I’m not afraid of you.”

“I guess you’re not.” She looked at Sam, the rage gone from her eyes. “What about you?”

Sam hesitated. He wasn’t sure how he felt, and watching her destructive rage hadn’t helped matters. But she hadn’t gotten angry at Dean even while he’d been hitting her, and, he reminded himself, she had shielded both him and Dean and Emily from that scarecrow and the townspeoples’ guns. “No. Me neither.”


	6. Chapter 6

The air was cold, with a bit of winter’s bite in it, but it was refreshing after two days of being angry and frustrated. They’d spent the morning and afternoon working with Jayme, who stayed in her beast forms the whole time, learning how to move around her and picking up her bodily cues to know where and how she was going to move. Dean seemed to be more and more taken with how “awesome” it was to have someone like her around, and even though Sam couldn’t match Dean’s enthusiasm, the fear clenching his heart like a fist had eased. He might not trust her entirely, but he found he was at least willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. For now.

“You better come in, Sam,” Dean said, walking up to him. “Unless you want that stump frozen to your ass.”

“I will in a minute. Where’s Jayme?”

“Inside, doing weapons detail.”

“What?”

Dean shrugged. “Best way for her to learn. She’s cleaning all the barrels of the guns.”

“You have a being from a highly advanced civilization cleaning out guns?”

“Hey, she might be from an advanced civilization but in our world she’s a green rookie. Not letting her think that just because she has a few moves and can bite through a two-by-four that she knows everything.”

“Better be careful, Dean,” Sam said as he rose. “She can still put you through a wall.”

“Not worried about that, Sammy. You saw how upset she got earlier when she thought I was hurt.”

“Yeah. I just hope that doesn’t lead to trouble.” He held up his hands at Dean’s sharp look. “I’m just saying. I don’t think she wants to hurt either of us, and it’s pretty clear she wants to help, but inexperience can lead to trouble. I’m just saying be careful.”

“Sam, I’m always careful.”

Sam gave him a bitchface. “Since when?”

 

 

They pulled up stakes in the morning, packing up what food was left and leaving the cabin, Jayme making sure the remains of the carport roof were neatly stacked, even though it was a longshot that anyone would see it, much less guess who or what had smashed it.

Heading south, they stopped in Iowa for a bite. Jayme bought a paper, looking to see if there were any reports of the rawhead or the kids they’d saved. Midway through Dean received a call that had him immediately agitated. He said it was from an old friend whose father was killed, and that she would never, “never,” have called unless they were needed.

Tossing down a few bills, they got up, Jayme folding the paper back up and leaving it on the table for whoever might want it. On the bottom of the front page (a testament to the slow news day) were two small articles side by side.

The one on the left was about the death of a local man, a teacher who was also openly gay, who had inexplicably died of a sudden brain-related injury whose cause was still unknown. The one on the right happily announced that a young woman with a supposedly incurable brain tumor had experienced a sudden and complete remission after visiting a local faith healer.


End file.
